


Keloid Scars and a Ceiling Fan

by shieldings



Series: We'd Fly Away Together [3]
Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Discussed Consent Issues, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Past Underage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Skips, apprentice au, in general i mean they are very stressed out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldings/pseuds/shieldings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When you're a kid, you want somebody to kiss your boo-boos and tell you you'll be fine.  That's what you did, for me.  But then I grew up, and I realized those boo-boos were keloid scars, all swollen and gross, and they weren't going away.”  She grins at him, but her eyes look vaguely desperate.</p><p>“...I'm sorry.”</p><p>“Stop being sorry, fuckface.”  She punches him in the arm.  “I loved you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keloid Scars and a Ceiling Fan

**Author's Note:**

> This really doesn't make much sense unless you read the other two stories in this series, lmao
> 
> Anyway this is yet another self-indulgent robterra.  
> As a side note, I made a little playlist for this series: http://8tracks.com/a-screaming-ungulate/the-best-and-the-worst-dreams-i-ve-had  
> (d on't judge me)

“I think it's infected,” she says, not meeting his eye. “That happens to bones sometimes.” Her ankle is swollen and pink. She's wearing one tennis shoe and one plastic flip-flop, and her hair is lank and unwashed. She looks like she's been through hell.

 

He slides down into one of the worn waiting-room chairs. His escrima sticks hang awkwardly off the edge, but he doesn't do anything to keep them from dangling.

 

“What happened to you?” she asks. “You don't look hurt.”

 

“Civilian,” he says. “Caught in the crossfire.”

 

“They should... they should make insurance for stuff like that.” She drums her fingers on her leg. He's bombarded by memories.

 

“Clinic's free,” he says.

 

“I know.”

 

They stare at the floor, unsure what to say. It's been three years since it happened, and Dick has managed to successfully push most of his apprenticeship into his subconscious. He's left the city where it happened, he's left behind his old name and costume. He's seen a League-approved therapist, and he takes his sertraline tablets every morning.

 

He should be better by now.

 

“How'd you recognize me?” he asks.

 

“Are you stupid?” Tara kicks a sippy cup (dropped by the wailing toddler who had just gone into the examination room) with her good foot and glares at it. “I'd never forget your voice.”

 

“What have you been up to?” he chances a smile. She keeps glowering.

 

“I'm not still doing contracts, if that's what you're asking.” She pulls at a hangnail. “Worked in a dollar store, but I got fired because I never showed up.”

 

“Oh.” He hadn't meant to bring up a sore topic. “I tried to become a police officer.”

 

“Gross.”

 

“Passed the physical exam, but not the mental one. They had this guy with a clipboard--”

 

“Why didn't you just lie?”

 

“I couldn't do that!”

 

“You always were a crappy liar.” She grins at him, and for a second he's back in their room, drawing on the wall while she looks over his shoulder. “I'm glad you didn't pass. It would have been weird if you were a cop.”

 

He doesn't ask what she means by this, because he doesn't want to know. Instead, he hums absentmindedly and looks at the clock. He wonders if the kid he brought in is okay. He wonders if Tara is okay. He wonders if--

 

“That new costume suits you,” she says. “They call you Nightwing, right?”

 

“Right.” He shakes his head to clear it.

 

“I heard people talking about him, but I had no idea he was you.” She brushes her hair out of her eyes-- it's shorter, now, he notices. He doesn't say anything. “I'd heard that Robin was back, so I thought...”

 

“Batman got another one,” Dick says. He sounds more bitter than he should. “While I was away.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Wasn't his fault. He thought I was dead. Anyway, Bludhaven didn't have any capes, so I kind of elbowed my way in.” He realizes he's tapping his foot. He stops.

 

“You're not wearing a cape.”

 

“People grab them, and they get in the way of somersaults.” He shrugs. “It's just a slang term.”

 

“I know.” She pauses, her eyebrows furrowed. “I missed you,” she adds quietly. “I dreamed about you when I was wandering.”

 

Something catches in his throat, but the nurse comes in and tells him that the patient he'd brought in wants to see him, and all he can do is stand up shakily and follow her to the examination room. When he comes back, Tara is gone.

 

He wonders if her ankle really was infected. It definitely looked like it was.

–

_It was a desperate affair. He petted her head and she rubbed small circles in his back: through fleeting touches, they reminded each other that they were alive. Her lips were cracked and dry, and her hair was tangled and heavy. She would clutch at him desperately, but every time he tried to wrap his arms around her she would stumble backwards, stammering excuses._

 

_He did not begrudge her this, because another human presence was a gift in itself._

–

“I'm sorry,” she says. He's standing behind her in line at the CVS. Her antibiotic prescription is balled up in her fist. Stupidly, he wonders if he pharmacist will accept it.

 

“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he says.

 

“It really pisses me off when you talk like that.”

 

The pharmacist taps the counter loudly. Tara spins around to face her.

 

“At least it doesn't need surgery,” she mutters.

–

“ _I'm sorry,” she sighed into his back. Her heartbeat was frantic, like a trapped bird in her chest._

 

“ _You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he said._

 

“ _I'm terrible.”_

 

“ _So am I.”_

 

_She laughed softly, and it tickled. She let go of him and rolled back onto her narrow bunk. He lay next to her, pressed himself against the wall so as not to invade her space._

 

“ _I wanna die,” she said conversationally. She reached over and began to play with his hair, twisting it around her fingers (it had grown too long, but maybe he'd keep it this way)._

 

“ _I'd miss you.”_

 

_She let go of his hair, and her expression darkened. “Don't say that.”_

 

“ _It's true, though.”_

 

“ _It makes me feel sick.” She smiled again. “I... don't like the idea of being missed. Too much responsibility.”_

 

_He didn't quite understand, but he smiled back at her. He hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn't brush it off._

 

“ _Is it okay if I say I like you?” he asked._

 

“ _You already have, so it doesn't matter.” she reached over and put her own hand on his side. Their arms crossed, a narrow “X” of skin over the thin fabric of her sheets. “Never change,” she whispered._

 

“ _I won't.” He knew it was a promise he couldn't keep._

–

She's sitting at the edge of the park at sunset. The children are long gone, but the swings are ghostly in the wind. Cigarette smoke is curling around her head like a cat's tail. She doesn't notice him.

 

He puts down his groceries and joins her.

 

“Why are you following me?” she asks. She doesn't sound particularly offended, but he feels a little guilty.

 

“It wasn't on purpose,” he says. He wonders if he sounds childish; he feels childish. “It's my city, anyway.”

 

“A city is a city. I came here on business.” She hugs her knees and stares at the pink-gold sky. “I won't be here for long.”

 

“What have you been doing, all these years?”

 

She snorts. “It hasn't been _that_ long. I've just been hiring out.” When she sees his worried face, she sighs. “I told you, Dick, it's not contract killing. I'm just renting out my powers. You know, to move rocks and stuff.”

 

“Don't hurt yourself.”

 

“Says the guy who makes a point of stalking supervillains.” Her cigarette has burned down to a stub. She spits it out and grinds it into the dirt with the heel of her hand, apparently ignorant of the ember still smoking at the tip. “What have you been up to, besides being a goodie-goodie?”

 

“Still get together with the Titans once a month.”

 

“How are they doing?” She contemplates for a second before adding, “How's Raven? She still alive?”

 

“She finally got herself a secret identity. She's taking courses at the community college.”

 

“You must be proud of her.”

 

“I am.”

 

“What's the new Robin like?”

 

“He tried to punch me in the balls when I came home. Br-Batman had to pull him off me before explaining who I was.”

 

“Sounds like a treasure.” She pulls her cigarette box out of her coat pocket, and offers one to him. He shakes his head.

 

“He is. I think he's going places.”

 

They talk about the weather, Dick's friends (Tara, for some reason, doesn't have anything to say about people), and the local personalities. They pointedly avoid the topic of apprenticeship.

–

_They sat in a cheap motel room in Metropolis. He sat on the edge of the bed and cleaned his weapons while she watched the ceiling fan. Dick was painfully aware of his earpiece, but he felt somehow grateful that he was allowed to travel so far without Slade following him._

 

“ _What's the situation with the client?” he asked._

 

_Tara leafed through a stack of printed notes. “She's the deputy of a cartel, and she wants us to take out her boss.”_

 

“ _Ugh.”_

 

“ _Like you wouldn't do the same thing if you had the chance.” She smiled her dishonest smile, and his stomach swooped._

 

“ _What would happen if we didn't do the job?” he asked._

 

“ _You know what would happen, dumbass.”_

 

“ _What if we got caught on purpose?”_

_  
“Batman would bail you out, and I'd go to prison.”_

 

“ _You're so pessimistic.” He put down his gun and his cleaning rag and stretched. “Don't you have any 'what if' scenarios?”_

 

“ _What if Dick shut his ugly mouth and let me go to sleep?” she obviously wasn't trying to sleep._

 

“ _What if Tara relaxed for once?”_

 

“ _What if Dick stopped being a stupid fuckface?”_

 

“ _What if_ Tara _stopped being a stupid... face?”_

 

_She laughed, but not in a particularly cruel way. “Keeping it PG, birdboy?”_

 

“ _I conserve my swears.” He lay down to join her in staring at the fan. It was kind of hypnotic (an infinite swirl of rust and fake wood)._

 

“ _You hold back too much,” she said, not looking at him. “If you're going to make it, you have to be rash and selfish.”_

 

“ _I don't really hold back all that much,” he said. “It's just how I talk.”_

 

_She groaned. “You're missing the point. You need to stop being so nice. They'll eat you alive.”_

–

“You changed your hair,” he comments. She's on her third cigarette of the night, but he doesn't point it out.

 

“Long hair is a pain. Gets tangled easily, and people can grab it.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

“What was with the pointy things?” she gestures at her head, sort of an upward swoop. He wonders if it's supposed to imply spikes. “When we were kids.”

 

“It wasn't that long ago.”

 

“You could cut somebody with those. All you'd have to do was charge at them like a buffalo.”

 

“I thought they looked cool.”

 

“You grew your hair out, though.”

 

“Didn't have enough energy to spend time preening.” _I'd kind of given up,_ he doesn't add. It's implied.

 

“Kids and their fashions.”

 

“Kids and their fashions.”

 

She spits out her still-burning cigarette and prepares to grind it into the dirt with her hand. Before she can, he smothers it with the end of his scarf.

 

“You'll get burned,” he says.

 

“Feels right,” she says.

 

“Shouldn't,” he says.

–

 

“ _What do you mean, 'eat me alive?' Who's gonna eat me alive?”_

 

“ _I- I don't know,_ they. _People. When you're a good guy, you can be nice because you can trust other people not to turn on you. We're not good guys, Dick.”_

 

_He was silent for a moment. Despite all the bad things he'd done, he still automatically considered himself a good guy, or at least on the side of justice. Finally, he forced himself to smile._

 

“ _No honor among thieves?” he asked._

 

“ _Not among mercenaries.” She rolled over and kissed him on the cheek._

 

“ _Any honor between us?”_

 

“ _Hell, no!” she snorted. “We're the worst! I mean, at least, we're pretty bad. You raise our average.”_

 

“ _You're not as terrible as you say you are,” he said._

 

“ _Wanna try me?”_

 

“ _No.”_

 

“ _Hey, Dick.”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _Take out your earpiece.”_

 

“ _Wh- what?” He couldn't take out his earpiece. Bad things would happen if he took out his earpiece._

 

“ _There isn't an automatic feed,” she said. “I've seen the control room. We should be asleep anyway, so he won't suspect anything.”_

 

_Despite the anxiety gnawing at his gut, he trusted her and pulled it out of his ear with a strangely satisfying pop. He laid it carefully on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed._

 

_She caught him by surprise, grasping the collar of his shirt and kissing him deeply. At this point, he'd gotten kind of used to it. He lingered on the kiss for a moment before pulling back and resting his hands on the mattress._

 

_  
“You like me, right?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. There was something confusing about her eyes. They were narrowed in determination, and her eyelashes reflected heavily against her pupils._

 

“ _I thought that was obvious,” he said._

 

“ _Good. I like you.” She kissed him again, hard and hot. She grabbed his left hand and guided it to her breast--_

 

_He instinctively clenched his fist and drew back. “What are you doing?”_

 

“ _Liking you, stupid.” She began to unbutton her shirt. It was a fast-food restaurant uniform. The target visited the McDonalds every Wednesday between 7:30 and 8:45 PM and that didn't matter because Tara was taking off her shirt, holy shit, what was happening--_

 

“ _I don't like where this is going,” he said, standing up._

 

_She looked genuinely offended, kneeling on the bed with her sports bra out. “Why not?” she asked._

 

_He sat on the desk chair by the door. “That was just really... uncomfortable.” He couldn't place it, but something had felt incredibly wrong._

 

_She fell backward onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I don't get you,” she said._

 

“ _I don't get you, either.”_

 

“ _What's not to get?” she half-laughed. “I throw rocks at people's faces, feel sorry for myself, and get fucked. It's not that complicated.”_

 

_It seemed complicated, but he decided not to argue. “I just didn't want to get too touchy,” he said._

 

“ _Is it because I'm flat-chested?”_

 

“ _No! I just didn't want to, and I don't think you did, either!”_

 

_The smile faded from her face. “Stop trying to figure out what I'm thinking. I... I don't like to be told what I think, or what I want or don't want.”_

 

“ _...Sorry.” He stood up and joined her again on the bed. They lay together, staring at the ceiling. Their hands intertwined._

 

“ _It was wrong,” she said. “I wanted to be the one in control.”_

 

“ _I understand.”_

 

“ _Sex is weird,” she said. Her eyes circled with the fan. “Being so close to another person that they're inside you is weird.”_

 

“ _If you don't like it, why do you do it?” His eyes circled with the ceiling fan. It was symmetry, and symmetry was comforting._

 

“ _It's not that bad, if you ignore the gross parts.”_

 

“ _Like fishing.”_

 

“ _Like fishing.”_

–

The park is far enough from the major buildings of the city that its sky is clear and speckled with stars. Dick and Tara sit there, quietly, listening to the buzz of the automatic lamp in the gazebo. His breath forms clouds in the air, and it is like her smoke.

 

He breaks the silence.

 

“I loved you, you know.”

 

“I know.” Her face is lit by the tip of her cigarette from the front, and by the gazebo from the back. It has an eerie affect. “I loved you back. I didn't think I would be able to, but it happened.”

 

“Does that count for anything?” he asks.

 

“It... I think it might have made things worse,” she says. “This is going to sound stupid.”

 

“Say it anyway.”

 

“When you're a kid, you want somebody to kiss your boo-boos and tell you you'll be fine. That's what you did, for me. But then I grew up, and I realized those boo-boos were keloid scars, all swollen and gross, and they weren't going away.” She grins at him, but her eyes look vaguely desperate.

 

“...I'm sorry.”

 

“Stop being sorry, fuckface.” She punches him in the arm. “I loved you.”

 

They're quiet again. The light keeps buzzing, and cars are honking in the distance. Somehow, their hands wind up tangled together. The nostalgia is painful in more than one way.

 

“I think I might be a different person,” he says. “I think I might be a different person from the one I was three years ago.” He's a different person, with SSRI's and a day job.

 

“No, you're not. You're the same person with some extra stuff thrown in.” Tara squeezes his hand. “I know I'm the same. That's the problem.”

 

“I'm happy that you're the same.” She gives him a look, and he feels his ears turning red. “I mean, not that you feel bad, but I'm glad that you're the same person I knew. It would have been terrible to meet you and not-- not have you be the... same.” He trails off weakly. She's staring at him with those big eyes, as though he's something alien and unfathomable.

 

“If we're the same people,” she says. “If we're who we were back then, what does that mean?”

 

“I loved you,” he says.

 

“I loved you,” she repeats.

 

Somehow, her head winds up on his shoulder and the groceries lie forgotten by his side. They watch the stars and the soft purple nighttime clouds in silence. He listens to her breathing, and she listens to his breathing (they're both alive, somehow).

 

Despite the darkness of the night, something in them is glowing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you read the whole way through this, I love you.  
> This is not the end. There's another story in this series to finish it.  
> Comments are always appreciated, doesn't matter if you've commented before, whatever. They fill me up with validation and y'all know how I love validation
> 
> Quit my job as a scanner peasant bc I've gotta go back to college to study psychology and cry about psychology


End file.
